Kaitlyn and the Highlander

by Diana Knightley

  Rob, the bartender, along with the chef, and the manager, met them at the front gate and tried to explain.

  The world had gone slow-mo around me.

  Hayley was clutching my arm. My hands were shaking. I knew this much. I had hands, they weren't behaving right. All my blood had rushed to my head, and my ears had stopped working — buzzing like an hour after a Foo Fighters's concert. My eyes were searching around, independent of my brain, my body, my other senses. I was disjointed. Discombobulated. Undone.

  I heard the bartender say, “One of our patrons. Yes, he's a local. It was his wedding party. Two guys assaulted him and they went off that way. That's his wife over there.”

  He pointed in my direction.

  My head was spinning.

  I stared in the direction that James and Micheal had gone.

  Hayley's voice emerged from my fog. “Where do you think they went?”

  An ambulance and a fire truck pulled up outside. The police voices on the radio said, “We have a sword fight, apparently on horseback.”

  Across the patio over the wall in the middle of the road another police officer was walking around a small puddle of Magnus's blood. Magnus was hurt. He needed an ambulance. Where was he?

  James and Micheal returned, doubled over and out of breath. They spoke to the police out in the road, pointing in the direction they had already checked.

  I convinced my feet to walk toward them. James shook his head. “We didn't see him Katie, but the police are sending out a car.”

  A police car sped away as he said it.

  “But he went that way. They were right there. You didn't look hard enough. Oh god.” I clutched my face, holding onto my jaw trying to get it to stop chattering.

  James said, “We looked. We went as fast as we could. There was no sign of them. Who were those guys?”

  I shook my head.

  Micheal said, “What if they went toward the docks? Let's get your truck, James, and go look. Officer Brand, do you need us any more?”

  “No one can leave until we've secured the area.”

  What followed took hours.

  There were gold coins on the ground that were unexplainable, so there was a mystery, a trashed restaurant, a missing husband.

  I wanted to see the coins, the sword that the first man left behind; there was a familiarity to them that I needed to investigate. But they were impounded before I could calm down enough to ask.

  Quentin stood beside me the entire time. He answered questions, a lot of questions, because he had discharged his weapon in downtown Fernandina Beach. Reports had to be filed.

  I needed to pee, but he asked me to please hold tight until he was through. He didn't want me out of his sight for some reason. I asked him, “Do you think Magnus could be home already, waiting for me?”

  “I don't know, I hope so.”

  The questions the police asked of me were the most difficult. How long had I known him? Did he tell me he had enemies?

  Yes, he paid for security around the clock, plus he was armed. Yes, he had enemies. I don't know why — maybe because he was royal? Yes.

  When asked to elaborate I couldn't, because none of my answers jibed with what I knew about European politics.

  So I repeated it again, as if repetition would make it real. He was a royal. That was true. His enemies were because he was a royal. James corroborated. So did Quentin. If enough of us agreed it might be true.

  The police set up a command center. A helicopter was called in. Cars were searching and reporting back. Police were bustling around. And then later, much later, I was asked if I would be available for questioning the following day.

  “But you'll find him, right? Before tomorrow? He couldn't have gone far — he was injured. The other man on the horse had a gunshot wound. They were all on horseback. Where would they be? He...”

  I trailed off because the faces of the men and women around me looked so blank, completely noncommittal, kind of hopeless.

  Finally, we were free to go. I said goodbye to everyone. James hugged me in a bear hug. “Micheal and I are going to keep looking Katie. I don't know what happened to him, but we'll find him.”

  “Call me, as soon as you know anything?”

  “Of course.”

  I hugged Michael and then Hayley for a really long time. “That was so scary! Katie, where did he go?”

  “I don't know. That was...” It had been terrifying, abrupt, and physically hard. My adrenalin had pumped through my body, then left so drastically, now I felt like throwing up. And it was way dark out.

  I checked my phone, dead. Great, what if Magnus was trying to — he wouldn't though. He didn't have a phone. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Hayley said, “Eleven-twenty.”

  “I'm so tired.”

  “I know, Sweetie, you go home, try to rest. James and Micheal will find him. When you wake up in the morning he'll be there.”

  Quentin led me to the Mustang. He talked nervously. “I was out here, feet up on the dash. He told me what to look out for, but I didn't really think he meant it, you know? Jeez, I can't believe I shot someone, and then there's nothing. Jeez. He's just gone. Gone.”

  He helped me into the back seat and raised the roof.

  Then he drove in silence until I asked, “What were your orders exactly?”

  “He told me to listen for a storm, and if there was one to come to the restaurant. He told me to guard you. No matter what. And that I shouldn't intervene unless I was at a distance with a good clean shot.”

  “I don't understand why protecting him wasn't your job. What did he think would happen to me? They were clearly after him.”

  He sat quietly for a few minutes, but kept glancing in the rearview mirror at me, like he was uncomfortable.

  I asked, “What, tell me.”

  “I got the impression I wasn't really protecting you, but guarding you to keep you out of it.”

  “I'm not that hotheaded. I'm not going to jump into a fight with swords.”

  “I don't know, I think he knew he was leaving and didn't want you to follow him.”

  I humphed angrily. “How the hell would he be leaving? From the middle of Center Street, an island, on a horse? He doesn't have goddam wings. Or even a phone to call an Uber. Did you call him an Uber?”

  “No Katie.”

  “Yeah, so that's just speculation. I don't want to hear any more about him leaving me. That's just not fair and don't you dare tell the police that; they'll stop looking for him. I can already hear it in their voices. They think he left me — he married me and left me. Well, that's not what happened.”

  I glowered out the window, then added, “His last words to me were, 'I'm coming back.'”

  He said, “Yeah Katie, I won't mention it again.” He turned up our street. “But if you think about it, he said, 'I'm coming back,' like he knew he was leaving. That's all I meant. He kept saying things that sounded like he was.”

  I glanced at his eyes, irritated, partly because it was true. Magnus had been saying goodbye since we met. The whole reason we got married was because he wanted to leave, and Lady Mairead wanted him to stay. Well, guess what, it didn't work. I didn't work. I wasn't enough.

  We pulled into my driveway.

  When I opened the front door of the house, everyone rushed me with questions. Apparently Quentin had called the other security guy, and he told Zach and Emma, but now it was up to me to give the blow-by-blow.

  Two hours ago, on pure adrenalin and agitation, I would have been up to the chore and then some. I probably would have embellished and dramatized it. Now, exhausted, scared, and broken, I wasn't up to the task. Quentin told them all about it, from when he arrived, so they didn't hear about how I stuffed wads of napkin in Magnus's ears so he didn't hear them coming. How I begged him to stay longer at the restaurant though he wanted to leave and come home.

  How a freaking horse leapt over a wall in downtown Fernandina Beach and just about killed us. How I almos
t got Magnus killed.

  Or maybe I did.

  Because he wasn't here.

  What the hell happened — my husband got into a sword fight and disappeared on the back of a horse?

  While Quentin told them the story, I listened. And it sounded crazy. Like a movie that involved superheroes and villains-with-robotic-appendages crazy. Fernandina Beach was a super small town; how could this be the kind of thing that happened here?

  I asked Zach. “Do you think he left me?”

  Zach lightly tapped his fingers on the table. “He kept mentioning that he needed to leave, but it was an 'if.' I don't think it was about you at all, but I don't know. I know it was a strong if.” He dropped his head to his hands. “He told me I would stay on to cook for Lady Mariead. Now neither of them are here. I — Katie, do I still have a job? Emma and I really liked it here and— “

  I said vaguely, “We'll talk about that tomorrow...” and stared down at my hands thinking about all the decisions I would need to make. It had only been that morning when I signed all those contracts. I was in charge of Magnus's fortune, and he was missing, and...

  Zach's face looked worried.

  I said, “You know, that's unfair, I'm sorry. Magnus thinks the world of you, of all of you. Of course you still have jobs.” I took a deep breath. “None of this matters though, because he'll be here any minute now. Worst-case scenario, tomorrow.”

  Quentin asked, “Katie, could I go out looking?”

  I said with as much snark as I could muster, “I don't know, you think Magnus is okay with you leaving my side?”

  He chewed his lip, then said, “Katie, I've only had this job for a few hours. I did the best I could. I followed his orders because it was my job to.”

  I glared at him for a moment, but I couldn't stay mad because it was a hundred percent true. “Yeah. You're right, I just, I'm pretty overwhelmed and… I'd appreciate it if you'd go looking, thank you.”

  Quentin stood from the table and headed for the front door.

  Zach jumped up to get me a cup of chamomile tea and some aspirin.

  Emma said, “The police, James and Micheal, Quentin, they're all looking for him. He's on horseback, they'll find him.”

  “Yeah, that's the only thing that makes sense.”

  I took a sip of tea and realized I needed to get into bed or I would pass out right there on the table.

  Forty

  I woke up hours later. My brand new wedding bed, empty. The room was too cold, bare, lonely. There was a hum, practically an echo. I breathed in a scent of him, deep and big and mysterious and sexy and —

  A whole night had passed. I had gone to a party to celebrate my marriage and came home alone. It felt like a dream, but I was ready to wake up now. Please. Tears slid down my cheeks, I curled in on myself and sobbed until I couldn't cry anymore.

  Then I knew this — I had to get up. I had to run things. I had to meet with the police and my dad and come up with a new list of household work for my employees because I was in charge now. Magnus had picked me for this. To take care of things when he was gone.

  And I didn't understand it, but — I remembered the weight of him on me, the sharp pain in my thigh, and his words: “I will do whatever it takes to get back to you.” He was gone. I had no idea where, but that part of me that had been filling up with him felt empty and lost and terribly sad, but I was the woman of the house now. I had to lead.

  Forty-one

  When I emerged from my room, glancing around, hopeful that something happened, maybe a surprise, though I could feel it in my bones that there was nothing new. It was clear from the faces; sympathy frowns on everyone there.

  Zach cooked me oatmeal pancakes with nuts and yogurt, drizzled in syrup, plus coffee. It was delicious and necessary. Quentin was back from searching and hadn't found Magnus or any sign of him. The police were still looking and planning to interview me today. Also, I needed to call my mom and dad and tell them.

  I should call Grandma, though she wouldn't be any help. I felt spacey, disconnected, untethered.

  My phone was lit up with notifications: Hayley, James, Micheal. Texting they didn't know anything yet.

  And so that's how I spent the day — I dealt. Friends, police, staff, my parents, my new house, life, fortune, piled up on top of the basics — I ate when Zach put a plate in front of me. I drank when a cup appeared. I showered when I caught a whiff of my underarms and thought I might spare everyone the agony. Plus, he might come home, right? I should be ready.

  I did these things the first day.

  Hayley, Micheal, and James came for dinner and held my hand while I explained how I was feeling. Kind of lost. Really scared. Very heartbroken.

  James tried an intervention. “I think you need to consider the very real possibility that the boy left you. I'm sorry Katie, you deserve so much better, but he—”

  “No. He didn't leave me. Not on purpose, he—”

  James's face grew irritated, his brow drew down. “Katie, you have to face reality.”

  “No, I don't. I got married two days ago, and my husband meant it. He gave me everything he owned, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, I know it. I just know it.” I sobbed into my hands before Hayley bustled me off to my room where I cried myself to sleep.

  Second day? Scarier. Because the conversations stopped. Because the first day he could come home. Now he was gone.

  By the end of the week he was way gone.

  The following week it was hopeless.

  People began speaking about him in past tense.

  People gave me the sad looks they saved for widows. And probably I was one.

  Trouble was, everyone considered me a widow, but also, assumed I should start moving on. Because I hadn't known him for that long, really. The marriage was actually arranged. There hadn't been enough time to get truly invested.

  Hayley, week three, walked with me out to the beach and sat beside me on the sand, and said something like this: I should think about getting back out, seeing people, and I told her to shut up. I told her I had really fallen for him. And that he was coming home. He wasn't dead.

  That's what I said.

  I barely believed it though because this felt a lot like he died.

  I got a pile of books on money markets, investments, and tax law thinking I needed to study up. I got another stack of books on art history because there were paintings in Lady Mairead's office, or rather, my office, that seemed important. Old and historical. I needed to get them appraised but couldn't attest to where they came from or how they got to be here. I needed to ask Magnus about them. Find out their story, because all my guesses sounded crazy. And they seemed very valuable.

  But beyond studying, I was pretty damn bored without needing to do any of the normal life upkeep.

  Emma ran errands and did anything else I wanted. She also cleaned and laundered the clothes. Zach cooked. I sat around feeling sorry for myself, occasionally reading books about how to be a money mogul or Renaissance painters.

  I also spent a lot of time out on the beach. I took up jogging again. Quentin followed behind for safety though neither of us knew why. It was simply Magnus's orders and until he returned and told Quentin to stop we just kept following them to the letter. I searched for shark teeth during low tide and filled a little jar with the tiny black triangles and a few random big ones that I was very proud of. And I sat. At the top of the dune looking out on the ocean, at the horizon, and occasionally up at the sky watching the clouds, studying the wind patterns, waiting for another storm. Because in the weeks I had been waiting for Magnus to come home I had learned something.

  The dead man from the wedding party had been carrying coins. Those coins shared a lot in common with the coins my husband owned. The coins his wealth was built on. Magnus Campbell had the best collection in the world of coins and jewels that shared those qualities.

  The police interviewed me about the coins, how odd they were. I told them they had been stolen fr
om my husband. So that was the motive: theft of antique coins.

  They were searching for the attackers, thieves, for him.

  But I had stopped looking because I wasn't sure how to continue. I had a hypothesis. It wasn't one that made sense, or that I could explain without sounding crazy or delusional. So I kept it to myself.

  It went something like this, the dead man's coins were age-dated 1600-something. As were Magnus's.

  So this is what I believed: Magnus was somehow from there, that time. That he had traveled forward to this time somehow. And he was back there, now. It was the only thing that made sense, though it made no sense at all.

  Because it was impossible.

  And so I hid my hypothesis. While looking for proof beyond. Magnus didn't know the rules of football. Or Magnus had never used a flushing toilet. Which might be proof enough if it weren't proving something that was categorically undeniably completely impossible.

  I just had to wait for him. Remembering his assurances — “I'm coming back to you,” and hoping what he had somehow made possible, he could do again.

  I hoped. Because without hope, without the ability to do what is impossible, he was the past. And it broke my heart to think about what that meant. That in the history of the world there was a Magnus Campbell and now there was a Kaitlyn Campbell and once they loved each other, but now he was nothing more than a grave. Where would that be, a dusty churchyard in Scotland? It made me cry whenever I thought of it. Was he dust? God, my heart was breaking. He was dust to me.

  What had he said, the night we discussed our plans to marry? It chilled me to the bones when I thought of it — “I'm nothing but a dead man, there's no changing that.”

  Forty-two

  I wandered out to the end of the beach walkway and sat on the dune, looking out over the wide white sand past the deep Atlantic Ocean to the far horizon. I took this view while I was thinking about him, but I couldn't sit here like this for long. I went to the sand and searched for shark teeth because it was simpler. Searching cleared my mind, zen-like. I had been waiting for him for eight weeks. Sixty-one days. Just over two months. Over One thousand, three hundred, fifty hours.